


The Dissenters - One-Shot Prologue

by KeeperOfTheEternalFlame



Series: The Dissenters [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen, POV Original Character, Post-Civil War (Marvel), Sokovia Accords
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-09-01 05:02:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16758457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KeeperOfTheEternalFlame/pseuds/KeeperOfTheEternalFlame
Summary: "You're here to take me away, make me sign the Accords.""We're not. We wouldn't make you sign something even we didn't agree to.""Yeah, right. Of course you signed the Accords. You're Captain America. You always do the right thing.""Doing the right thing and following the rules aren't always one and the same."





	The Dissenters - One-Shot Prologue

The rain, you determine, is _decidedly_ more trouble than it’s worth.

You remember with bitter spite how much you used to love curling up next to a window with steaming mugs--tea, hot chocolate, or maybe even coffee if you were feeling especially bold--and a book in your lap. The rain, you remember, used to sound like a thousand one-note lullabies. It used to be laced with smooth jazz and raspy voices.

_Splash. Splish. Sploosh._

Sneakers in puddles don’t sound the same anymore.

_Drip. Blip. Ping._

The droplets on your face stopped being soothing about 28 minutes ago.

_Run, run, run, as fast as you can._

Your raincoat is big, _far_ too big. When you donned it this morning, you weren’t expecting to be in a race for your life. One foot loses traction for a moment and you stumble, arms flailing as you right yourself before searching for a burst of speed to make up for the time it cost you.

Yes, the rain, you now understand, is a cruel, cruel hindrance.

You round the corner, trying your damnedest not to slip, the wetness of each shallow pool your feet make contact with seeping into your socks.

You really don’t see it coming, the briefest flash of color moves in your peripheral vision before you’re hit with the feel of an arm slamming across your chest with all the self-assured strength and immobility of an iron bar. You cough violently at the sensation as someone pulls you down an alley— _why are alleys even still a thing?—_ and into their chest before you can lose your balance and tumble to the ground. You wish you could scream, exhale with all the deafening force of a banshee, but screaming would only put you in more danger. Against your every instinct, you suck in another lungful of air instead, sputtering as more rain drips past your lips and your lungs struggle to return to functioning properly.

“Easy, easy!” a man’s voice says in your ear, and you recognize it immediately, although it’s gruffer than what you remember from those middle school videos. “We don’t want to hurt you.” You wriggle in his grasp, still short of breath from the impact and the sprint preceding it.

The others who had been on your tail come racing into view, skidding to a stop in front of you. The other man looks intimidating in his size, all soldierly lean muscle, but it’s the cold expression of one of the women that sends pricks of fear racing up and down your spine. Being surrounded doesn’t help slow your racing pulse. You’re sure he can feel your out-of-control heartbeat against his forearm.

He must—because he lets you go and steps out from behind you.

You attempt to scramble backwards, but your feet betray you on the slick ground. You come down hard on your backside, palms smacking the puddles filling in the divots of the uneven concrete. _Some superhero you are._ The group in front of you halts their advance, but, glancing at the brick wall behind you and lacking Spider-Man’s tacky abilities, it’s clear that you’re trapped no matter how close or far they are, their bodies blocking your only way back to the street. As much trouble as the rain is, the continued existence of alleyways tops it bar none.

It’s hard to pin down exactly who’s who without their costumes, but the man in front, the one who had held you in his steel grasp, is unmistakable. Captain America, in his navy blue shirt and army green cargo pants, kneels down before you, his hands held out in peaceful surrender.

“It’s alright. We’re not here to hurt you.” He takes a crouched step forward, but when you lean away, he freezes, reiterating with his hands that he comes in peace. The man behind him places a hand on his shoulder, and Captain America nods in acknowledgement. “I’m not coming any closer, it’s okay. Just breathe, alright?” He gives you a moment before he speaks again, softer this time. “Do you know who we are?”

You blink rapidly and stuck raindrops fall from your eyelashes like tears. Your breaths come in quick and shallow with exhaustion and panic, adding a shake to your voice you wish wasn’t there. Home would be so nice right about now—another book, another mug...it would be coffee this time. _Definitely_ coffee.

“You’re here to take me away, make me sign the Accords.”

Steve Rogers shakes his head, looking down at you with a small smile. “We’re not. We wouldn’t make you sign something even we didn’t agree to.”

You look at him incredulously before moving your gaze to your sneakers with a disbelieving scoff. “Yeah, right. Of course you signed the Accords. You’re Captain America.” The echo of that sticks in your throat for a minute, only makes it harder to breathe. In front of you is _Captain America_. A shudder runs through you. Of all the times you’d imagined teaming up with the Avengers, this wasn’t how you envisioned your first meeting with them going—void of glamour and glory, your fear directed at the Star-Spangled Man with a Plan rather than a shared enemy. You sound like a child when you continue. “You always do the right thing.”

Looking down, you miss the flash of emotions that crosses his face. His jaw tightens for a moment, his expression turning hard before a twinge of sorrow and regret chases away the anger, leaving tiredness in its wake. He sighs to himself. “Doing the right thing and following the rules aren’t always one and the same.”

The statement surprises you, catches you off-guard, gives you time to catch your breath at last. You look up at him and finally read the conflict laid bare in his eyes. There is something so different there from what you would expect in coming face-to-face with Captain America. His shoulders are squared with determination, but there’s something in his posture that makes him seem a little like an actor, a caricature of the man you watched on television saving New York City--like he needs to keep reminding himself who he is. Or who he’s supposed to be.

The older of the two redheads smirks, glancing at Captain America out of the corner of her eye. “Funny how that never made it into your PSAs.” He drops his head and chuckles wryly, looking over his shoulder at her briefly before refocusing on you.

“The Accords are a mess,” he says quietly. “And you have every right to be a little scared of them. But we want to help you. We’re trying to protect you from everyone who wants your signature on those documents, your identity on display, and your hands cuffed to the gates of the UN.” His eyebrows furrow together as his gaze grows more gentle. “You don’t have to believe us, but if you turn us down, there’s no guarantee we can keep you safe when it’s the government officials chasing you through the streets.”

Captain America stands and takes a slow, deliberate step forward, reaching out a hand. You stare at it, long and hard, weighing your options. If he was telling the truth, Captain America and his... _allies_ were your best shot at staying safe. If he was _lying_ …

You breathe out slowly, and your breath escapes in a white rise of steam in the rain-chilled air as you take the outstretched hand.

He offers you a smile as he pulls you to your feet, one that truly tries to be genuine butdoesn’t quite reach his eyes, and shakes your hand once you’re standing. “It’s good to have you onboard.” You nod wearily, a bundle of nerves and uncertainty and a rapidly fading adrenaline rush.

“Welcome to the Breakfast Club,” the other man says, and while he doesn’t manage a grin, there is something gentler about him than the rest, like he’s already read you cover to cover in one look and knows what buttons not to push.

Captain America turns his attention from you, looking to the other members of his rogue squadron, giving them instructions that the rushing of blood in your ears tunes out entirely. The younger woman—the one without the cold stare that rattled you to your core—quirks her lips the tiniest bit as she meets your eyes over Captain America’s shoulder, but she looks tired.

They all do. Tired beyond having just chased you down. This fatigue runs far deeper.

After another minute of discussion, Captain America turns back to you. “Stick close to Wanda, alright? We need to maintain a distance without completely breaking the group apart.” You nod, entirely unsure of who Wanda is. But the woman you made eye contact with steps forward, her hair tied up in a ponytail that hangs out of the back of her hat. “Natasha will head out first, then you and Wanda follow.” He gestures to the other man. “Sam and I will watch your six. We clear?”

It’s an easy enough task for your weary brain and body to understand and follow. “Yes, sir,” you respond, trying to sound more confident and all-around okay than you really feel.

He laughs to himself. “Steve,” he corrects. “Just Steve.”

That sounds…so _odd_ to your ears. _“Just Steve”—_ like you’re old friends that play poker together. _“Just Steve,”_ like he’s not _Steve Rogers—_ like he’s not _Captain America._

But there’s no time to contemplate it now. The scary woman, Natasha, flips a strand of hair out of her face and adjusts her hood and black-rimmed glasses.

“See you there.”

You ignore the panic brought about by not knowing where _there_ is. Hell, you’re still half-convinced that the group is hand-delivering you to the U.S. government. But you swallow that down after a pause and move forward when Wanda motions for you to come closer.

As you pass by him, Captain America— _“Just Steve”_ —places a gentle hand on your arm and meets your eyes. Whatever uncertainty had haunted his eyes is gone now. Now, there is only resolution, however grim it might be. There’s no turning back.

“It doesn’t get easier from here,” he confirms. “There _is_ no easy choice in this. We’re not going to force you to be a voice of dissent.”

But his words are a sermon for the choir.

You drew your line in the sand a long time ago.

“Count me in, Captain. There’s no choice at all.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everyone! I've been writing fanfic for a while on my Tumblr account, but some trusted confidantes suggested I move over here to Ao3. I'm fairly new to Marvel, but I'm head-over-heels for it, so I'm doing all the research I can to do these characters justice! I originally wrote this without a storyboard and then retroactively storyboarded and realized this format wasn't going to work to tell an entire story. So, instead, it's sort of an adjacent prologue to the story I intend to tell. There's a lot I'm still fleshing out in my outline, but I just wanted to throw this out here to motivate me to keep writing! Thank you for reading, and I look forward to all the adventures to come!


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